


The Tale of The God Who Could Be Bothered...

by Punk_in_Docs



Series: Loki: God of Mischief and Sex... [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bar, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flirting, Hangover, Hot Sex, Morning After, Morning Sex, Morning Wood, Oral Sex, References to Knotting, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Stranger Sex, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Imagine-Loki on Tumblr. Prompt submitted by nerdnirvana, I claim no responsibility for the idea behind nor of this fic...</p><p>The prompt is this: Imagine getting very drunk at a party and leaving with an equally intoxicated man. When you wake up in a strange bed, sore, groggy, being held to his chest from behind, you chance a glance back. It’s Loki, still asleep, it’s then that you notice that your leg is thrown over his hip and his large, hard member is still lazily pumping into you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Eye Fucking Stranger...

 

 

 

 

Meet, The handsome sex god... (Described in five words, suave, charming, genteel, passionate and dominant)

our down-to-earth, wild haired, mortal, (described in five words, quirky, unassuming, fun, witty and humble...)

our place of meeting....

~

 

 

“ _Um. Okay_ , I wasn’t going to bring it up. But I can’t keep my mouth closed any longer, that guy, over at the bar, the dark haired one with blue eyes that _need lampshades_ , had been _undressing_ you with his eyes ever since we _sat down…”_

My friend Tess told, leaning into me, throwing her ruler straight blonde hair over her shoulder, her grey eyes gleaming with drunk mischief.

I blinked, fluttering my lashes at her for a long second.

And I hardly ever fluttered _. That was, however_ _Possibly due to the fact we we’re both three sheets to the wind. Pissed off both our heels on tequila._

Because the men, _all_ the men, tall, dark, fair, handsome, smarmy, short, fat, thin. _All of them_ , perhaps possibly even the _entirety_ of the male race, never, _ever, **ever,**_ looked at, eyefucked, nor paid me any attention. _No_. That privilege went entirely to the toweringly tall blonde model of my best friend sat by me in a simple cut purple dress that her willowy figure made look expensive and amazing, even though it probably cost her under a tenner. Tess had a smile that belonged on toothpaste ads, and could get talent spotted for most modelling agencies even when she looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.

 _I on the other hand,_ had not been so lucky to be hit with the pretty model stick. I was the negative copy of my friend, where she was tall, I was not so much. Where she had ribs you could play like a xylophone, I had _more than enough_ body fat to make me more than warm in the winter. Tess was long limbed, shiny haired, elegance and grace. I was stocky, stubby legged, and had an overtly curvy _hobbit like build_. With a bushy tangle of blood red hair that looked like it would be more at home on a lion’s head. _In short, I looked like a bloody orc when stood next to her elven like beauty._

So why, _why oh why_ , did she suddenly decide to _lie_ \- badly - about a man looking at _me_ ….

 _Because,_ my brain spits out to me, _Idiot. She is trying to set you up so she doesn’t have to listen to one more second of you moaning about how men are thoroughly overrated. She probably is being her usual kind saintly self, not wanting to let you spiral into a introverted life consisting of eating nothing but ice cream, buying a load of cats, learning to cackle like a witch, loose your front teeth, buying a bath robe, and the only action you get is from some stranger brushing past your bottom at rush hour on the tube home. Just food for thought…_

I grumbled something resembling a stroppy rebuff, as I necked the remaining dregs of my drink. Sliding down my throat, burning my stomach as it was sent to it’s final resting place.

“Yeah, you’re _funny_. You and I well know he was looking at you, and just diverted the attention from you, to me, to appear a little _less_ Ted Bundy-esque in appreciating you _so passionately_ …”

I bit out in a retort.

Tess swatted me on the shoulder with her clutch bag. Swaying lightly on her tall chair. We were sat on a table for two, crowded into the glass dominated window in a posh bar in London, looking out onto the night lit street before us. A single candle cast a soft glow across us where we sat on the table. She had her body turned in the direction of the bar, and I had my back to it. Therefore she was getting a _full scope_ of this _‘admirer’_ of mine. I put my glass down, twiddling it in my hand around on the table top. Tracing around the condensation rings with the tip of my finger. The heady warm buzz of drunkenness blaring through me, through every limb, like there was too much _blood_ in my booze system.

I hadn’t even put _any effort_ into my dress or make up tonight. Upon receiving the excited text from my friend, knowing that she would not let me, on pain of death, wriggle out of this evenings girly drinks date. No matter how much I protested at sitting through another evening of watching numerous men flirt with her, whilst I sat idly by like a unattractive, red haired, _lemon_. Third wheeling it as another _grotty wanker_ chatted up my friend in hopes of getting his leg over.

I had dragged one of my party dresses out, dusting it off, a simple, black, v-neck, short sleeves, body con, showing off my too big thighs, my untameable bosoms, and my bottom that rivalled the size of two planets colliding. Tess had leant me the crippling shoes which were wedged on my feet, black, peep-toe, sexy red soles, and of which were currently cutting off the circulation below my knees. Unfortunately, we were _cursed_ with being the same shoe size.

“Honestly, believe me, _hand on my heart, hun._ He is _eye fucking_ you as if he can already imagine you _naked_ …”

She smiled wickedly, her eyes sliding over my shoulder again. I groaned. Huffing, turning my head slightly to swipe a look at the,

 _okay. Bloody_ _woah…._

My cheeks flushed, almost as _red_ as my hair. And I felt my stomach clench, and a ripple of arousal and attraction shot through me like a bloody thunderbolt.

Well, okay, _the man_. _Actually no_. frankly, _the God_ , who was eyeing me up, according to Tess, was busying himself sipping on something neat and powerful in a whiskey glass, as his eyes dropped down over my back, lingering on my ass. He was leant with one elbow braced on the bar, nestled in amongst the bubbling, bustling crowds about him. And even then, he stood out like a sore thumb.

Clad in a black suit which _reeked_ of money, and seduction. And the look in his minty green eyes was lust, and not a lot of room for much else. He had ink, raven black hair swept back from his head, reaching just to his shoulders. Under the suit that radiated how sexy his lean, towering body was, was a crisp white shirt, and an emerald tie knotted about his pale neck. And his legs too, powerful taut thighs packed with muscle.

 _My god, cricket legged man, eat my heart out_.

And my goodness, if that didn’t make me imagine what his high and tight ass would be like, _then. Well._

_I’ve always been a very bad liar._

_I imagine his pert, muscular ass would be formed like two scoops of vanilla ice cream… my mouth watered at that._

I bit my lip a little, but mostly to myself, not in a way to entice him over. Because, _Christ on a bike_ , I’m damn sure if he spoke but _one word_ to me, I’d reply with a _blubbering, rambling mush_ of letters that would come tumbling out of my mouth like a cascade of alphabet soup.

I swallowed, looking towards Tess again, reaching forwards to go for my glass to moisten the sticky dry heat in my mouth. Before I realised there was not even a _drop_ left in my glass, anymore.

“You like the look of him, _don’t you?”_ She asked me.

I gulped, before delivering a somewhat stumbled response. Trying to look cool and collected, when I probably looked the same colour as a _baboons ass._ What I hoped would be myself exhibiting a Grace Kelly kind of cool, witty stand off of being flirted with.

But in reality, would probably look more like a fidgeting red cheeked mess, cackling a hacking laugh away like a cherry cheeked, toothless old harpy, like Hilda Ogdon. A dragon taloned old harpy who _preyed_ on young, handsome men.

It was safe to say, suave and sophisticated was something of which I’d never get a taste of. To me, those two words were things I read more often on a wine bottle. Seeings as my flirting attempts often seemed to shift into strange baron worlds where no sane men trod.

I tended to blush, stammer, and ask questions about what his favourite cheese was. Or what was his opinion on bee’s, or something.

I took a deep breath, returning to planet earth to answer her.

“I, think _he’s… alright. Looking_.. You know...”

I confessed. _In a blatant lie through my teeth._

“ _Come off it, you idiot._ He’s 50 shades of fucking sexy. And he is _ludicrously interested_ in looking at _you_.”

Tess beamed, sipping her drink, and looking a little too proud of herself.

“He look’s like he’d give you a right _good seeing too_.”

Tess leered. Recrossing her spidery long legs under the table.

I shot her a warning look.

But I could not deny, the first impression I got of this man, was primal, carnal, sheet clawing, scratching, nail raking, biting sex and an orgasm that could leave you blacked out and walking funny for _absolute months…_

Maybe it was the fact I was completely pissed off my untameable tits with booze. Or perhaps that I really _did like_ the look of the tall, dark, handsome vision, whose minty blue eyes I could feel _burning_ holes into my back. I licked my lips. Twisting about in my seat again, aligning my eyes with his.

He dropped his glass. _Having no reservations_ whatsoever about daggering his eyes back into mine. Then he dropped his glass. _Licked_ his gorgeous lips. _And smiled._ Slowly, his mouth pulling back, so slowly, to flash me a set of pearly white teeth, and a wolfs grin.

 _Dear sweet lord and in the name of her majesty's saggy bloomers_ , that smile made _me wetter_ than an otters pocket.

I snapped by head back around. Biting down nervously on my lips. My back to him again. Beuase If I had to continue staring at such beauty, I’d be _too bloody horny to stand by the time the night was through._

Tess shot me a slow, melting smile. On seeing me blush and my cheeks go so hot, I could have _fried an egg_ on them.

She was about to say something, when I noticed her eyes peered over my shoulder again, and her eyes lit up like fireworks on the fourth of July. Sparkling with impish intent.

My stomach dropped to my feet, did a couple of fancy somersaults that would have scored 10 in a gymnastics competition, flipped and looped the loop, before settling back in its rightful place in my body. I was certain there was no saliva left on my tongue. And I’m almost entirely certain that my brain had deserted me, and gone on a short two week holiday, to the south of _pissing_ France. Leaving me defenceless against handsome men, cruelly so, when I most needed it.  

“Don’t _you dare sit_ there and tell _me he’s...”_

I gasped lowly. My face set like steel.

Tess grinned. Cutting off my words.

_Oh, lord help me, not that pleased grin of hers._

“He's coming over…” She smiles like a siren.

I swallowed, gulping loudly as I tried to exhale deep breaths to calm the daggering nerves that shot through my body. Tingling up my legs, the apex of my thighs stickily hot, and damp. I had to clamp them together just to try and see if that awarded me any friction to alleviate the swollen, throbbing feeling that made me squirm in my seat.

But _no. Intimate, erotic_ images of the long pale fingers curling around that glass, instead rubbing and stroking at the wetness between _my thighs_ made me whimper, _trembling_ , with arousal.

_Get a grip of yourself girl. He’s a man. For all you know. He could be a smarmy git with a personality as attractive as a pig. And the toxic personality of a sewer rat, whose only interested in you because he saw from across the bar that your rack is bigger than a double D, and you’ve got an ass that seems to beckon and tempt the most potent assholes from here to Timbuktu-_

“Good Evening, Ladies.”

_Consider that grip, well and truly lost._

_God, his voice._

His voice was as If you could hear what velvet felt like. Dark, raspy, throaty velvet. Dark like sex, rough sex. Rougher than a romp on a gravel pit. Deeper and smoother than a fine red wine. _Christ,_ my brain thinks _, just keep talking man, I could cum screaming from listening to your voice alone._

I turned, twisting slowly to see this confident divinity of a man was behind me now. A long fingered pale hand slunk to the back of my chair. And he was _close,_ at that too.

 _So close_ I could get a whiff of the musky cologne that _rolled off him_ like cresting waves. The kind of man’s scent that couldn’t help but smell good. An alluring tug of pinewood, mint, and spice sweeping over me from his impossibly tall, and criminally lean body.

Up close, _holy fuck,_ I had to remind myself how breathing worked from seeing such a deity from up close. Looking at me with hungry, dominant, _sexual want_ in his eyes.

 _He should_ have been looking at Tess. That was how it normally went. He should have been eye-fucking her, instead of the stubby, stocky, overly rounded, too voluptious likes of me. He should have cast me aside and spent all night flirting and hitting on her. Whilst I sat there, hating myself more and more whilst I was completely ignored on my own drinks date with my best friend, so bored I had counted the ceiling tiles ten times over. He should have not so much as looked up, from hitting on her, when I said I’d leave, to wearily go and trudge home, with aching, and sore feet. Snuggling down in saggy clothes, and watching Northanger Abbey for the millionth time, and wishing a man like Henry Tilney would apparate into my life, and marry me, and have _buggering loads_ of sex and babies.

I swallowed. Again. Snapping my face into – _what I hoped was_ – my best smile. Tess sat across from me, watching how his eyes didn’t leave mine for even a second.

“Hello yourself…” I countered back.

“I couldn’t help but notice the severe lack of male company appreciating your beautiful self tonight. Thought I’d come and even the playing field…” He smiled.

“Well. Men don’t often go _out of their way_ to come and talk to me…” I offered.

“Their fucking loss, darling, believe me on that. Their all fools not noticing the beauty sat right in front of them. As it is, I haven’t taken my eyes _off you_ all night...”

I narrowed my eyes at him flirtily.

“You’re _awfully_ assured of yourself…” I commented.

“I have _good reason_ to be… Trust me. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink, and find out for yourself..” He invited.

I smiled.

He grinned again. And I am not ashamed to admit. I was _completely lost_. He was intoxicating. _Hypnotic_.

His name was Loki and he was everything mysterious, and dark that felled all women. Everything that a bad to the bone man should be.

Here was a holy being of supreme sexiness. And make _no mistake about that._

We talked, and we talked. Tessa went home. And then we flirted a lot, and we drank, and flirted and then drank some more, like it was no one’s business. And then, the bar passed closing time, and when we got outside, he towered over me and yanked me into a kiss that fired both our blood. And had us nearly ripping the others clothes off in a cab back to his place.

When we get there, we can barely contain ourselves. As soon as he shakily unlocked his door with calm, barely drink affected fingers, whereas I was swaying and tottering unsteadily about in Tess’s shoes like a one legged flamingo doing the tango.

I am heaved into his hall, and in no time at all. I find my legs snapped around his hips, and my lips savagely being ravished by his own. He was kissing me with his entire body in that _deep, dark way_ I’d only _read_ about in trashy erotica novels.

I certainly never _dreamt_  I’d meet a man who could take my breath away with a kiss like he could.

The fact we were both very much drunk was painfully evident, and this also meant every move was sloppy, but _no less hot_. He stalked me up, lowering my legs now, cornering me against a wall, fisted my hair in his hand, and whispered that he wanted to wrap my legs around him, and wear me like a scarf.

_And really. Who was I to go against him and his wishes?_

Then, right there in the hallway, he pushed my shirt up round my middle, brought my ineffective knickers to loop round my ankles, and cupped my thighs to his face and licked me out like there would be _no tomorrow_.

I came – _twice_ – screaming his name till I couldn’t, climaxing hard down his throat, my release spurting into his mouth as my hands dug in his long hair.

But even _that_ was just the beginning...

With a now swollen, weeping, and throbbing cunt, he guided me, on very drunken, all too pleasured, trembling legs quickly up a flight of stairs and into his bedroom. Heading for his _huge_ , pristinely made bed that I wanted to _muss_ up almost as much as his elegant appearance.

But before he could drag me onto it, I pushed him to sit far back on it, and buried his, frankly, _gargantuan cock_ deep into my mouth, sucking and swirling on his delicious head, feeling the salt of him flood my tongue, as his hips snapped his huge cock into my mouth. Gagging me in a way I found not even _remotely_ pornstar-ish at all. I found it _so bloody hot_ , I was dripping and leaking for more by the time he growled and gushed his orgasm deep down my throat. _I took every drop._

He sat there, _panting,_ his jaw hung low, looking at me with those _hungry_ eyes as I saw he throbbed and twitched and grew hard again. and _all for me_ too. Sat there looking like sin on legs with his white shirt undone, his tie had long since been wrenched off by my hands, after I led him to the bed with it like a dog on a lead. The booze making me so bold as to do things the usual timid, mouse like me would _never do_.

But then this god of a man stared me down with those _hungry,_ bright eyes, and smiled at me, curling a smile across at me, that made me wetter. And I was already _gushing_.

He quickly shed me out of my dress, tearing it in many places, and proceeded to show me what it was to be well and truly _fucked_.

He had me in almost _every way_. On top of him, under him, led on my side, riding him, on all fours, he even had me ride his face until I _sobbed_ his name when I came, and he didn’t let me go until my riding his face resulted in not one, but _four_ orgasms.

And I eventually found my way back to deep throating his delicious cock once more. But he got his payback, by snapping me off him and fucking me so hard from behind, I’m almost damn sure his neighbours next door was sure he was _murdering_ me.

Eventually, it was safe to assume, that _hours and hours_ had passed since our concluding shared orgasm left him roaring my name, filling me up when he came, so much so, I’d never known a man to cum as heavily nor as much as he had. Nor for as long. The sticky mess of him _flowed_ down my thighs, and my own pleasure left me partially _unconscious_.

I was spent and purring by the end. Also in knowing that this, _incredible_ , sexy _as fuck_ man, had finally chosen me.

And bloody hell, was he worth the wait. And had fucked me to within an inch of my _life, and my sanity._

After he fetched us both some much needed water, I rolled over, slumping onto my side to watch his perfectly formed ass as he walked away to get us a drink. He returned and we toyed and teased for a little while, smiling, apologising for the bite marks that sat, black and stark on my neck and my back, and myself, wincing when I saw his back looked like someone had attempted to take his life with a gardening rake against the skin of his back. Bleeding scratches etched all down him. The memory of my nails on him. 

He shrugged, licking my nipples as he smirked and informed me he’d wear those marks like trophies. We did – somehow – fall asleep, after another orgasm or two.

~

I became vaguely aware it was sometime in the early morning, as I wrinkled my nose, waking up to a patch of sunlight flooding in from his open windows, framing where I slept on the bed. But to me, that sunshine was like having someone pour acid into my eyes.

_What in the name of prince Charles saggy y fronts did I drink last night?_

I grumbled to myself. Before everything seemed to come shooting back to me like a bullet.

This was not my room. These were not my bed sheets, and, eventually, through the fogy haze of pain and the throbbing, pounding potency of – _possibly the worlds most horrible_ – hangover, My eyes scanned around and realised that I had, evidently, not gone to bed _alone._

_Him._

I had gone to bed with _him_. Tall, dark, muscular, packing a cock that would make a horse instantly loose its masculinity and pride _, Loki_.

Six foot four, thighs like pillars, a tongue that knew every way in which to show a lady a fine time. And a body and beauty that would make Greek Gods feel like overweight, beer gutted, toothless balding, lorry drivers.

Let’s not go near the fact that he was insatiable too. _God,_ how I was feeling the _effects of that now_. If I could manage to _walk_ or even stand, today, _I think that would somehow qualify as a blooming miracle..._

I bit my lip, remembering all the downright carnal sex that had transpired last night. Feeling a shudder of arousal break through my ailing head. And my body too, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. Everything ached, and the ripple of soreness that flared from the fingertip bruises on my thighs, the love bites on my neck, the tenderness of my cunt, and how my nipples felt raw, tender, and _very well loved._ When I remembered how he had handcuffed me down and sucked on them for almost _half an hour_ , wrapping his mouth about them, taking them deep, toying my wet nipples with that sinful _long_ tongue of his, until I _screamed, begging_ for him. I smiled to myself at recounting it. 

That was when I shifted my legs, stretching out my thighs. Warming my muscles up to mov-

 _Oh, Ohhhh, holy fuck_.

Was the thought that rippled through my head, when I realised that one thigh was curled up, rested over a sharp, very male hip.

_Oh, how those hips had pounded and proved their durability last night. Now here was what Shakira truly meant when she meant ‘hips don’t lie…’_

I giggled inwards to myself. Before I continued, seeing the solid beautiful ‘V’ carved slab of muscle that led down from washboard, ivory abs. Which grated against my back. His breath too, furnaced my neck, nuzzling into my hair. I twisted about to see him in the daylight.

 _Oh, mercy me_ he was a sleeping Adonis. All pale, veneer flesh, with a carved jaw, and chiselled twin zygomas. His eyes were rested shut, and his massive had spread my thigh up over his hip.

But even all _that was not why_ I was cursing.

He was still _inside me_.

Stretching me so _perilously wide_ over his brutally large, _rock hard cock_ , damn near splitting me in two.

I shuddered against him. Shivering as a shot of fresh arousal soaked the length of his cock that was still buried deep inside me. Spreading my walls _wide_ , causing the most _delectable_ ache I had ever been privileged to feel. I moaned lightly, swallowing as I tried to shift further back into him, trying to move a little and rub against the burning ache that was growing, balling up inside of me.

I realised he was awake when I felt him chuckle against my neck, nipping a kiss across where my neck met my shoulder. Igniting another bruise to match the collection of things that already stood out on my skin.

I groaned, louder. Between his lips touching the hot spot on my neck, and his huge cock curling deep into me, making me wetter by the second. I couldn’t quite think straight.

“Dripping for me again? Are we?” He asks.

That’s when he plunges his hips forwards. Making me choke back a scream.

“G-good morning to you too…” I gasped to him.

He responded, wrapping one arm to come under me and clutch at one breast, rolling his fingers about my nipple, circling, then tugging and rubbing in magnificent circles across me. His other hand forced my leg further back up over his body. Hitting spots inside of me, that no other man had ever bothered to reach, I wailed as he circled his hips in a slow, cruel circle, grinding into me in a truly glorious way.

“Had enough of me yet?”

I asked him with my face making a soundless pant of pleasure.

“Are you kidding me? I’m nowhere near finished with you yet. Darling..”

He snarls into my ear.

I whimpered.

“Aren’t you hungry? Or thirsty?”

I asked with incredulity soaking the tone of my voice.

He pulled out of my scorching, gushing heat, and snapped his hips away from me. Flattening me onto my back. Watching with smirking hunger on his handsome face, as my breasts jolted because of his actions. And I could do nothing but watch him _hover_ over me, his enormous hands stroking down my thighs. Fondling the fleshy, supple things. Which he had purred at me last night, that he loved best when they were wrapped around his ears.

“Of course I’m hungry..”

He smiles, eyeing up my dripping folds. Which felt so painfully engorged for him. My clit already aching with naughty thoughts, reminding me of how well he attended to finding it last night.

He took my thighs in his hands then, tugging me down the bed. Making he gasp as I found my splayed open core, hot and wet for him, was being hungrily _devoured_ by his eyes.

“But I don’t want _food_.”

He explained, as he winked, and dived in for his _‘breakfast’_

_~_

 

 


	2. Afternoons After, Townhouses, and Gods...

 

 

 

~ Allow me to take you upon a little Tour of Mr Laufeyson's Million pound pad... ~

 

~ So concludes our little tour of one certain Misters townhouse. Now if you could just be a darling, and imagine a half naked Loki rolling about in those bed sheets, that should just about get you up to speed for this chapter... ~

 

~

_~Sometime, much later, that same afternoon of the morning after…_

 

 I awoke – again – to find our earlier mauling session had ended up in us both dozing off again after a couple more soul shattering orgasms. _My god, this man could go for miles in bed._ Eventually, his insistance at giving me mind numbingly good oral sex ensured I soon had forgot about the way my head was currently half rotting away due to my hangover. Once again, my eyes take in the sight of his spacious, chic and oh-so masculine decorated bedroom, in it’s huge, airy and too bright glory in odes to the huge window of which the afternoon sunlight slanted in, breaking in on us both, where we lay prostrated, naked, under snow white, sex sullied, thoroughly wrinkled bed covers.

I find my barings, sitting up, to find my body was throbbing and pulsing with the strain of a rather blissful all night sex marathon with the sleeping adonis who slept soundly behind me. I twisted round a tiny bit, trying to make as little movement as possible so try and catch a glimpse of the stunning creature behind me.

_Oh, even in sleep the charming bugger still managed to look godly… That’s hardly fair. I look like a strange creature resembling an extra from the black swamp when I trudge out of bed in the morning. That, coupled with the bed hair, and the atrocious morning breath could very easily allow me a part time job living under a bridge, scaring some goats…_

But this man, _oh, this man_ , This more than fairly handsome deity of a man could roll straight out of bed and seamlessly walk a runway, or model for Dior Homme cologne. In all his tall, lean, leggy grace.

I bit my lip letting my eyes drink in the full expanse on him. Led on his front, his pale torso invitingly bare, his muscled bicep reaching out his left arm for where I had slunk across the bed as I slept. His back, and the slices of his shoulderblades carved out from his pale back. I wanted to kiss every freckle, and play an endless game of connect the dots with my lips from each little mole, and each discoloured freckle. Shamefully, I saw the true extent of the memory of my hands scribed onto his shoulders, over his upper back. Stark red and sore looking in the light of day. Also on his trim sides, down by his perfectly toned waist, because holy hell, after the way he treats a lady in bed, I couldn’t afford not to cling hard onto his body to alleviate some of the _toe curling_ pleasure he caused to _rocket_ through me.

His head rested facing me, cushioned directly in the middle of the butter soft white pillows of his bed, his inky, straight hair thrown in front of those mesmerising eyes, gently shuttered as he slept without making even a sound. He didn’t even snore. _Was anything about this man not perfect?_ My tummy kicked and fussed like a toddler throwing a tantrum as I surveyed across this resting beauty. Unable to resist, I shuffled on my side, resting on one elbow, seeing one shapely leg of mine was revealed, thrown across the bed, uncovered from the heat of the bedclothes as I shifted. My fingers were magnetised to explore him a little, _I couldn’t help myself._ I reached across and gently brushed a lone lock of dark hair away from his eyes, careful not to disturb him too much as I did. My reward was a soft groan, rumbling up from the back of his throat, which made he shudder a little, recalling the sinfully _delicious_ sounding moans I had pulled from between those lovely lips of his last night. Or how they had been so nearly kissing my own, moaning my name in _feral_ need, as he nearly shagged me through his goddamn mattress. Those massive strong hands linking my fleshy thighs up over his hips as he proceeded to give me some of _the_ best sex I had ever had the pleasure to be on the receiving end of.

Deciding that I needed to try and test my legs, I resisted from touching him any further, or sliding my hand onto his gorgeous self any more. I slid quickly and barely making a rustle to the bedsheets, landing my feet down onto his soft unblemished bedroom carpet, soft and springy under my feet as I rolled my sex wearied body into a stand. Feeling my abdomen ripple, and for a moment, my twitching thighs threatened to give way, sending me crumpling to the carpets below.

Luckily, I managed to remember how the basic function of walking worked. And staggered my clumsy self across the bedroom, trying to decipher from the graveyard of clothes streaked across the carpet, of which were mine, and which were his. I smirked a little, in seeing the emerald green tie snaked to the floor, avoiding crushing it underfoot, I stepped over it, putting out of my head the way my hands had been bound with it at some point in the night. And if my drunk memory served me correctly, I somehow recall that I wasn’t _the only person_ who had my hands bound last night. My bed companion was on the receiving end of that last night too as I had restrained his hands and proceeded to have a little fun of my own with his sinfully glorious body.

_God, when did I become such a little wanton sex kitten?_

I smiled a little at the memory, my cheeks heating up as I remembered the encounter, my hand self consciously scratching the back of my neck, trying to avoid getting tangled in my knotted hair. A second later, after steering my wandering mind back to safer, _non sexual_ , ground, I managed to discover an item of clothing that would cover me amptly enough for me to skirt to the bathroom, and down to his kitchen and attempt to get something caffeinated to quench my thirst, and both sober and wake me up a little. I quickly decided that I had no other option, and so, slid down and grabbed his white shirt, linking it on my arms and buttoning it up, though the man was barely any wider than I was, my ample curviness managed to fill out the top, which barely just contained my bust, but luckily covered my unclad derrière as my knickers were _nowhere_ to be found. _Looks like I'd be going commando today._ I realised as I did up the last button, and crept silently to try and find his bathroom, that the shirt smelt invitingly like him. That fine cologne I had caught a whiff of many times last night didn’t only linger in his clothes, but all across his bed, down his neck, on his fine planed cheeks, and even his shoulders. A _gorgeous_ scent, for a _gorgeous_ man. The kind of scent that made you want to snuggle up into his chest and take a good long, deep breath. And just drink it all in. He truly was all round, _perfect_. And nothing less.

I tiptoed to the space which I assumed was his bathroom, the impressive ensuite across the room, taking a second to blink, and take in the sight before me after I peeled the door open. 

_And I thought his bedroom and his heavenly soft bed was big…. His bathroom was bigger than my entire bloody flat!_

It could have spanned miles, elegantly attired with a flawless ceramic white clawfoot tub which looked big enough to do lengths and widths in. It was classily bedecked in a duck egg blue and white theme, with every surface sparkling and glinting a brilliant white. Like they had all been scrubbed and bleached to within an inch of their lives. I quickly used his facilities, and apologetically stealing a tiny blob of his toothpaste and using my fingertip to rid myself of the foul morning breath I was cursed to get. Doing a passable job in the mirror, of combing the knotty red rats nest that I so laughingly called hair, trying to tangle, tease and tame it into something resembling civility.

After a few minutes of manipulation, it eventually worked. Satisified with a passable appearance, I slunk out of the room as noiselessly as I had entered it. With one goal in mind, I now decided to try and locate the kitchen. I padded across the bedroom carpets, leaving the door pulled behind me, not wanting the clicking noise of myself shutting it to wake the slumbering god behind me, I stumbled down the stairs, trying to remain elegant looking and upright, though my aching body threatened to cave at several points. Evidently, I would be paying a price for the glorious sex marathon, evidenced by the fact that I couldn’t really _walk_ all that easily without looking like I had been injured. But, I could give two flying figs about the state of my body at present. Due to the lust, sex and godly men which stole all my attention last night, I must have ignored my surroundings. The sex god was not only as his name suggests, but he was a _filthy rich_ sex god too, I found out.

Coming to the bottom of the stairs, and heading through the first door, of which I vaguely guessed would be a kitchen, after slowly levering open the door, I was physically gobsmacked by the sight which greeted me. His bathroom may have been bigger than my puny flat, but his kitchen was one which rivalled the size _of battersea bloody power station._ Clearly god like was not a phrase limited to the mans sex drive, stamina, or looks. Clearly his paycheque was of a _godly_ proportion too.

I was almost afraid to touch anything in this impressive paradise of a kitchen. I ambled in slowly and cautiously. Slowly devouring the luxurius, uber modern and ultra posh space before me. I came across something familiar, at last, which turned out to be the kettle. I filled it and switched it on. Wondering if the resting divinity upstairs would prefer to be woken with a cup of coffee or a cup of tea? Or whether he wanted to be woken at all?

As my hangover started to subside, unfortunately, my senses began to return, self doubt began to ebb in like the creeping tide.

My mind questioning why I wasn’t just slinking out of this place, doing the walk of shame home to my grotty little flat. Could I, the pitiful mortal, belong with someone like him? Handsome, rich to boot, and packing the sexual stamina of an animal in heat, I couldn’t help but wonder, out of all the women in the world, why had he taken **_me_** home? The bar last night was crawling with perfect, leggy, tall and supermodel specimens of women who’d look right at home on his arm. And he had chosen the last hobbit in the shop when he took me.

I’d seen the snide looks some girls had given me last night as he bought me a drink, and I indulged myself in flirting and chatting with him. In my drunken state, my confidence flared, and for an odd second, I almost _dared_ to believe that he could belong with someone like me. A measly graphic Illustrator, who earned less than £25,000 a year, and whom lived in a pitiable little poxy flat above a vegan café in Notting Hill with only a dog for company. This man, probably earned more in a _day_ than I make after taxes in an entire _year_ , he probably had hundreds of women on the go all over London. And dated models like it was a finely tuned hobby. And to top it all off, he looked like he could grace billboards in times square, whereas I, was not even looked at twice by most men. _Builder’s_ didn’t _whistle_ when I walked past. That’s what it was like to live life in my shoes. _So how could I possibly belong with Loki?_

By the time the kettle clicked off, boiling over. I had soberly made my decision. Which I pondered over as I located the mugs, and placed a teabag in each one, filling it with water, stirring as I thought Biting my lip sadly.

I’d take him a cup of tea, like any good polite british bird would do, I’d try and see what he thought about us in the light of day, and proceed from there. Who knows, a sober him could be not a shade alike the charming, sexy man I had the pleasure of flirting and drinking with last night at the bar. Beer goggle vision and all that. He could be completely different and want me out of his life _for good_. I’d be just another notch on his bedpost, the laughing stock of his sexual history. The slightly short, shapely, and voluptious girl who dared to think for a minute a man like him could want me inamongst the crowd of models whom probably were the usual inhabitants to grace his bed. Then I could slink out of here like the miserable coward I was, with my tail between my legs. Trudging home and telling the tale of how I had indulged in the best sex of my life with a sex god. And it was marvellous. But now I had to go back to my hun drum life after getting a brief taste of heaven and of what the other half lived like.

 _And that would be that._ That would be it. The extent of my association with the indisputable sex god of London town. Best I go back to my spinstery existance, M&S meals for one, boozy nights on my sofa with a wine bottle for my only company, and leave well enough alone.

I had just binned the teabags, and stirred in the milk, taking the mugs to hand, and praying he didn’t have sugar in his tea, and I moved off. A bright chirping noise behind me made me jump, and curse as I jolted, sending a slop of tea to drop to the floor and burn my feet.

 _“_ Ow. Bloody _,_ bollocking _Bollocks!!”_

I cursed loudly, hopping from one foot to the other like the inelegant idiot that I truly was, shaking my leg to let the very hot tea get off my feet. Before I span about and saw the bright and loud chirping was in fact a house phone, the screen blinking to the life, docked behind me on the marble kitchen counter. I breathed a sight of relief from my shock, before the ringing stopped and his voicemail picked up. My stomach lurched a little sadly at hearing his smooth, throaty and rich voice automated on the answering machine.

 _Oh, how that voice had purred dirty, sinfully bad, sexy things in my ear last night,_ I thought glumly, _and how it never would again._

_“Hi, you’ve reached Loki. Can’t answer the phone right now, name and number after the beep and I’ll try and get back to you…”_

Drawled the cheery, _lovely_ voice. I titled my head to the side. Miserably. I felt like I could cry at hearing him speak. _He truly was perfect_. I thought. _Even his damn voice was perfect._

I turned and continued on my morose way with the mugs of tea in my hands, before the voice that spoke up after made me stop dead in my tracks. My stomach sunk, grey and dejected to my feet. And my back slumped sorrowfully.

It was a woman’s voice. Of course. And by the sounds of things, she was no stranger to him. Clearly  also by the sounds of things, she was hankering after a event much like the one he and I indulged in last night.

“ _Hi, it’s me…”_ Came her _young_ , flirty, playful cooing call. Her voice sunny and teasing. In short,  _Everything I wasn't_. 

“…. _How dare you_ ignore the phonecall from your favourite _girl, you wretch_. You’ll have to pay me back for such insolence when I see you again, and take me out for a _ridiculously expensive_ dinner. Speaking of which, I’m back in London next week. Paris was _, amazing_. I can’t _believe_ you didn’t want to come visit me. We could have done all the sights together, _my god,_ you would have _loved_ it. Anyway, give me a ring back, _you horrible boy,_ fancy not picking up to me, your favourite person. I’m shocked at you. _Rotter. Ring me_ _back_ this time, _alright?_ Otherwise I’ll stop trying and you can come _chasing after_ me yourself… _byeee.”_

I swallowed the sticky dryness in my throat, pushing past the sour lump that lay there. I was even surprised to find that the bite of hot tears stung my eyes.

_Clearly he wasn’t so perfect as I had once thought…_

The woman on his answerphone sounded like she would be, disastrously tall, with an amazing smile, silky hair and legs longer than the vegas strip. Whom he'd spoil rotten with dinners, and trips away to Paris, Milan and New York. And handbags and jewellery that cost more than my rent. And if _that_ was my competition. If a tall, tanned, sleek haired, Versace modelling goddess was the competition. I was bowing out now, whilst I had the advantage of not being snubbed by him face to face.

It was spineless, I know. Creeping out on him before he woke up. But I could justify such gutlessness. Clearly all I would ever be to him was a _notch_ – another notch to join the hundreds - on his _bedpost._

I trudged quickly back upstairs with the tea, going silently to the bedroom, I saw he was still asleep. I padded to his beside, and stood the tea down. Having emptied my own cup down the sink. I wasn’t sure I could stomach anything liquid, after the shame and the nausea that swelled through me. I took advantage of the pen and paper I found on his hallway table, and snatched a sheet of it off the pad, carrying it with me. I knelt and quickly scribbled him a rushed note, desperately willing him to stay asleep as I did.

_‘Thanks for a great night. I won’t forget it. p.s. nice pad. – Cassie. Oh, and P.p.s kidnapped your shirt… thanks for that too, as penance for the ripped dress…’_

I found my dress, though a little tattered, and pulled it on. Located my handbag – thrown across the chaise in his bedroom – I decided that as my dress was ripped in quite a few obvious places, instead of gracing the broad daylights of Londons pavements in a dress which looked like I had slept rough In it, that It was probably best if I deprived him of the soft white shirt I had on. Buttoned up overtop the short, bodycon dress, mentally preparing my feet for to slide on Tess’s agonizing heels once again.

There was one thing left to do. I crossed back to the sleeping adonis on the bed, and before I thought too much about it, dug down in my purse and left him a packet of painkillers next to the cooling cup of tea. I quickly – before I changed my mind- pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek. Choking back a sob as I swallowed my grief, savouring the sight of him one last time before I slid away and out of his life for good.

“Goodbye you....  _beautiful thing_ , you.”

I muttered, in a sigh, stroking his inky hair. Before I crossed the room to the door. Slipping out of it, swallowing back the tears and crushing down the brief emotional attatchment I made to him. I carried myself down the stairs silently, and slipped out of his house. Finding myself, underdressed and a little cold in the wind that breezed through the sunshine on the street. Looking back at the elegant stretch of the black townhouse above me. I quickly hailed myself a cab. And I didn’t look back -  _more correctly, I forced myself not to look back._

My hangover was peachy and throbbing along nicely by the time I rang up the £22.50 taxi fare getting home, and received a scathing look of judgement from the driver at my obvious cab ride of shame. Mustering my miserable dignity, I climbed out and sighed wearily on seeing that the café I lived under was, unfortunately, _open_. And there would be no escaping questions from Zack and Agnes. The couple who owned it, and whom were the best pair of friends to rent a flat from. If but both gobby in their own rights, and far too cavalier and open about their sex lives. As Agnes had a girlfriend, and Zack was _never not,_ on the pull, when he wasn’t working shifts here.

I winced, walking across the road, and trying to look courageous as I entered, ignoring how the bell on the door tinkled as I came in, and I grimaced as I was greeted by a chorus of inappropriate hollers as I stepped foot inside. Their gobbiness disturbing a few patrons – whom I cringed an apologetic smile too as I stepped further inside ‘ _The Zesty Mung Bean’_ the most vegan and veggie conscious café this side of the Thames. And unfortunately today, the place below where I lived. And I didn’t have the back door keys on me, so up and through was my only route home. I couldn’t slip in through the back and avoid them and their interrogations. There were perks to living above a café, like, for example, the fact that there was always something resembling cake to snack on, and that tea was perpetually available at no cost, since I paid rent. Plus, my flat always seemed to smell like citrus fruits for some reason. There were perks. _This, was not them._

“ _Ohhhhhh_ , someone didn’t make it home last night, Did they? You _old horn dog_.”

Exclaimed Zack. Who was a stocky hispter, attempting to grow a beard, and whom never seemed to stop smiling. He had a clipped, short buzzed head of brown hair and slanted green eyes which sparkled the colour of moss in his wide, sort of attractive face.

“Who’d pants did you crawl into last night, then?”

Zara asks cheekily as she wiped down the counter. She was a pure waify, rock chick girl, with tattoed sleeves on each arm, nice deep brown eyes and hair like silky black ink. Today pulled back into an artful fishtail braid. 

I gave them both a look of misery as I slumped back against the door. Praying for them to take it easy on me. I said nothing, but gave them both a look that hopefully warned them off asking any more questions. Tottering over to the counter. Seeing they both physically blocked my way upstairs. Both with shit eating grins on their faces. Drinking in my walk of shame.

“ _Fess_ up…” Zach encouraged.

“Well, whoever he was, he left you a little momento. Nice shirt Cass…” Agnes smiles.

I slumped my bag onto the counter and trudged passed them both to the coffee machine. Pouring myself a heavy glug of boiling hot water into a takeaway cup. Deciding that I needed to stomach some caffiene to make this conversation palatable. They shared a look at my glum sigh. Before I turned, after adding a dash of milk to my tea, I slapped a lid on the takeaway cup, clutching it, feeling it’s soothing warmth in my hands.

“You _ok there_ , bud?”

Zack asked, the smile fading from his face. I turned to see both their teasing looks had dissolved. Seeing I was in no mood to be ribbed at.

“I think last night was….. _the best_ sex I’ve ever had…”

I muttered glumly. Not wanting any customers to overhear me.

“That’s a good thing! _Good for you,_ getting some. More than _I’ve had_ _in months_ …” Zack smiled. Ever was he the optimist.

“As if _she’s finished_ …”

Agnes chided him. Knowing there was more to come, and as explanation as to why I was so glum. Arms crossed, she motioned for me to continue. 

“We spent the night in his, _mansion_ , on Elm Park Lane.”

“Keith Richards lives on Elm Park Lane.” Agnes deduced. Her eyes wide.

Zack furrowed his brows at me. Wincing.

“Please tell me you didn’t…” He began.

I shut my eyes and sighed before I opened them again.

“ _No_. I did not sleep with Keith Richards. _Really, Zack?_ How _low_ is your opinion of me?” I asked.

“He’s _so old_ he’s practically _melting_ …” I added.

“No. this guy was…” I sighed. “A _lot younger_ , A banker, or a…. _something like that..,_ I think. If I can remember rightly…”

I stammered. All our conversation the night before was lost in a blurry haze of drunkenness, booze and hot sex. But I’m sure he’d said Canary Wharf when I enquired as to his job…

“...He was, _divine_ in bed. And… had more money than the _gods_ … But. To him, I’m sure I was just another passing ship in the night. Another tally on his black book. A woman rang his answer machine whilst I was there, left a message, she sounded like a _model,_ I’m sure of it. And…”

I sighed. Not wanting to talk about it anymore. I just merely gestured in a sweep to my body. Offering my obvious lack of models genes as my answer.

“Will you see this model shagging god again?” Zack asked.

I bit my lip, not meeting their eyes, I shook my head as tears filled my eyes. _I’d really liked him too._ But, _once again, life and circumstance had come along and sucker punched me in the heart, just when I thought I was happy…_

“What was he like?” Agnes asked.

I swallowed. One tear bursting down my cheek before I answered her.

“ _Perfect_ …” I whispered. "He was _perfect."_

~

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. 4 Days Later...

 

 

~ 4 whole, agonizing days, later…

 

After my dissapointing shag fest with the God of Elm Park Lane of a Friday night, come Tuesday morning, saw me trudging wearily to work. In my depressed state of having to give up the Sex God I had the all but too brief pleasure of knowing, I had shamefully baracaded myself in my flat for the remainder of my weekend. With nothing but bottle after bottle of pink prosseco to keep me company, and then proceeded to get absolutely pissed, all by myself. Whilst having a good weep to Bridget Jones, raising a silent toast – drunkenly raising the bottle I was necking booze from – into the air, silently saluting myself and Bridget in odes of the tragic sad story of what other people so perkily labelled as their love lives. Here I was, after, yet again, another failed flop of a one night stand, in a ratty dressing gown, watching a chick flick as I hunched down in my sofa like a single, miserable, tatty clothed goblin, with unshaven legs and unwashed hair. Exonerating and shunning all things man like, and seriously considering taking up an occupation as a nun, moving far away to a remote nunnery in the swiss alps where I could spend the rest of my days not looking nor thinking of anything that _resembled_ , handsome, leggy, charming, godly men. (though that particular wish may have been semi fuelled by the booze) After allowing but two men to captivate my attention for a while (One called Ben, the other, Jerry) I liberated my miserable moodiness a little. Cleaning up my little nest of filth, as I danced around, cleaning in my pants, and singing Gloria Gaynor’s _“I Will Survive”_ into a hairbrush. Thanking the lord that I didn’t have room mate, and that no one but my little airdale terrier, Sid – so named after the iconic sex pistol, Mr Sid Vicious – was there to hear me wail and cry through my agony.

By the time Monday, and also my day off, rolled around, my one bedroom flat was not only cleaned from top to bottom, but also a vast deal more organised too. So, in order to keep my mind occupied and off of men, I dolled myself up a bit to look more presentable. And took myself out to indulge in something so anti-man, it would scare off even a whiff of testosterone that threatened to creep in and remind me of what it was I was missing, and working so hard to avoid. I took myself out shopping, and well, by the end of the day, my credit card looked a little tired, and I was damn sure I had made a sizeable dent in my bank account. _Bad for the wallet, was a one night stand turned sour,_ I decided. But come Tuesday morning, and I wearily threw myself back into the routine of hauling myself out of bed at a reasonable hour of the morning, and dressing myself ready for work. I slid on my new silky white blouse, and my new comfy black baggy work trousers, they were ultimately meant to be worn by a woman whose legs were about a mile longer than my own, but, we’d have to make do. I tamed my hair in a red bun on my head, and after sliding on my retro work glasses, and wrapping my huge new, big blue scarf around my neck, after grabbing my bag and sliding on some barely tall high heels, and now ten minutes late, I was off. Skirting through the café and plucking a takeaway cup of tea from agnes’s waiting hands, to enjoy on the way. Luckily work was only a merry jaunt of a ten minute walk away. I was exceedingly lucky to find a place so conveniently close.

I gave Agnes a quick kiss on the cheek which barely sufficed as a peck, before I was off, shimmying around the counter and off through the shop.

“Can’t stop. Too late..” I explained in a mad gabble.

“Bye sweets.” Agnes called after me as I ran past the queues of people lining up to buy such rubbish as ultimate soya cappucino’s, or almond milk skimmed, 1% fat free coffee. _I mean honestly, drinking water would be a better alternative, surely?_

“Find another man today, Make me proud…” She jokingly called after me as she grinned, blitzing up a spinach, super green smoothie.

“Shut up, love you too…” I called back over my shoulder as I tottered off out of the door and on my way. Striding quickly across the road to avoid a cyclist.

I worked for a small, but infinately popular Illustrating agency, based on Dawson Place. ‘Gulliver & Parsons & Co. Illustrating Limited’ business which stood proud amongst the townhouses of Notting Hill and Portabello. There was a small team there, of about 20 or so people, all of whom collaborated on drawings for authoral editing, magazines, books, book covers, anything. You name it, chances were there were people in our offices who had, or could draw it for you. – on comission of course. Getting there took next to no time, and my tea hadn’t even cooled in temperature by the time I had. I slid through the swanky bold multicoloured glass doors at a twenty to ten. Not too shabby timewise, considering I had to be there at half past nine. My tardiness was getting better. Reception was empty as I slid through, pushing the door through to the office spaces open with my body, holding it for someone to slip past me. Almost as soon as a entered the huge office spaces, I saw Tess’s head pop up from her shared desk like a little, perfectly pretty blonde meerkat. Her smile was wide and cheeky, and I sighed as she skirted, weaving quickly through the desks to trail behind me as I tried to walk faster and escape her oncoming interrogation. As she was an art agent, she handled all the listings, and various art clients for us, whereas, as I was the senior art director, I swas treated to the luxury of sharing an office space with her. A little closed off glass study, on the far side of the studio.

“How was your weekend then? Come on, tell me about the guy. Did you _go home_ with him? did you _shag him?_ was he _good?_ Are you going to see him again?” She grinned, rattling off a list of questions.

“Which do you want me to answer first?” I asked her, my tone a little flat and glum. Telling her all she should know from how my weekend had been.

“Oh god, new wardrobe, _that is_ a bad sign…” She added in a morose voice.

“That, and the fact I spent my weekend singing motown songs into my hairbrush and getting piddled all on my own should be _plenty enough_ of an answer _to all_ of the questions listed…”

I offered lowly, as a passing employee, Sam, handed me an A4 wallet of a comission. I thanked him glumly, as I stood outside our office door, rooting around in my bag for my key. She was still bundled up in her coat and bag too, so she hadn’t been in our office yet either by the looks of things.

“But, he seemed _so…. nice_. And… I watched him watching you the whole time. He really couldn’t take his eyes off you…” She spoke glumly. Her eyes glittering sadly.

“Yeah well. Mr Nice turned out to be a big, fat, womaniser. So. Naturally, I shall now die alone, and most likely never cross his path, so long as I live, ever again. I will loose all my front teeth, start cackling and collecting odd weird things that will clutter up the flat long after I’m dead…”

I grumped. Still shuffling stuff around to try and find my set of bloody keys. Lumping my stuff into her outstretched hands as the things managed further still to evade me.

She looked like a sad bunny as she looked across at me. And I could just tell she was itching to say something incredibly sweet, and optimistic to raise my hopes. She really was so saintly, it was a wonder she didn’t have a halo and wings.

“Maybe it’s not what you think…” She tried to console me.

“My last relationship ended bitterly because I dared to believe that ‘ _it wasn’t what I thought_.’ And he turned out to be a world class tosspot. Once bitten twice shy, why would this guy be any different? Plus he was ten times more handsome than my ex. There was no way there wasn’t a flaws to him. He would have been all too perfect otherwise…” I stated, managing to root around a little further, finally clamping my fingers down on what I was looking for. Pulling them out of my bag, I turned and went to unlock the door.

“People could surprise you..” She held out.

“ _Oh_ , Tess. You’re _too sweet_ …” I sighed.

“I’m _serious._ I mean what’s to say he won’t ring you for another date?” She pressed.

I winced.

“Because I didn’t actually give him my last name, or phone number…” I grimaced.

“Ok. Now I know you’re mentally deficient. That man was, incredible. Why would you not leave him your number??” She asked in a pitchy squeak.

“ _Oh, god,_ Okay _. Look._ It doesn’t make a _scrap_ of difference, we had a drunken tumble together, and that will be the extent of our contact with one another. _Alright?_ Yes he was handsome, and _my god,_ _utterly virile_ in bed. But I have too much dignity and pride in myself to be shackled to a handsome wanker who will cheat on me behind my back. And as my friend, you should know that when I found that Julian was cheating on me, _it tore me up._ And, I don’t desire to be treated like _that ever again_. Not by any man, no matter how godly they are. Ok? Just accept the fact, we had fun. But now it’s over and it is someone elses turn to have him. London is a big place. I’m safe and secure in the knowledge will _never see him_ again.”

I resolutely told her, pushing the door open, and trudging in. Glad to have set the record straight. I instantly recoiled after I sidled in and switched the light on. The reason being for this, that where our desks had both once been, now crowded into the room, looked like what appeared to be the missing half of a florists shop. As far as the eye could see there stood flowers, vases of them. Boxes of them, spilling out of bags and bouquets laid down on their sides. My hands dropped glumly to my sides.

_Perfect. Just when my love life hit rock bottom, Tess had to go and get herself another keen admirer who had chose this precise moment in time, trying to woo her into bed._

“ _Oh. Who’s_ in madly in love with you _now, Tess?”_

I asked. Chucking my keys onto my side of the desk. Which was tricky, considering it was swarming with heavily fragranced bouquets of roses and lillies. I stood my bag down and unwound the scarf from my neck, hanging it on the back of the door as Tess smiled and slid forwards to examine one of the little cards attatched to one of the hundreds of bunches which overtook our office space. Not to mention the air reeked of fragrance from the things. The sickly smell of roses, and greenery strangling the air.

“And if it’s more hilarious poetry in pathetic attempts to woo you, _please_ , _I beg of you_ , read it aloud. I could do with a _good laugh_ right now…”

I grumped, my mood turning sourer and sourer by the second, as I held a vase of wild daisies aloft to try and gain access to my phone. Her love life was roses and chocolates. And mine, was For now, was a litre bottle of vodka and a crappy girly movie. She was out of sight behind me as I distorted my limbs, battering a bunch of fuscias out of my way as I lunged for my work phone. Dialing my tone in to get my messages.

“ _Oh, my, holy god_ …” Came her little exclaimation from behind me.

“What? Another cringey admirer trying to be a 21st century Lord Byron? Come on, give me a recitation…” I demanded, smiling as I awaited her to read it.

I put my back to her as I leant over to try and get to my phone. Before I heard her scatter quickly behind me, tearing the phone out of my hands, and slamming it down, jerking me upright and shoving the little rectangle of a card in my face. Holding it so close to my eyes that I couldn’t actually read what it said.

“This _isn’t_ for _me_ …” She grinned like a fox.

I took a step back from her hyperactive eagerness, frowning and taking the card into my hands, I held it a resonable distance away, and tried to read what was written on it. My stomach lurched after I read the spidery handwriting scrawled on the slip of expensive white card. I heard and felt myself gulp.

_‘Showing my thanks to a gorgeous woman for a night very well spent – Loki.’_

_I was speechless._

I watched as Tess grinned at me. 

"Jeeez. How _good_ are you in _bed?"_

She asked rhetorically with a filthy grin. Motioning to the cascades of flowers that blanketed our space. 

I blinked a few times, my mouth sliding open wide. I must have read it over about three times. Tess grinning like a braindead fool across at me as I stuttered and stumbled, looking like a guppy fish at feeding time.

“ _How in the mighty_ _hell?”_

I began, asking no one in particular, my words trailing off. How the heck had he found me. I hadn’t left him so much as one clue, but my name. _He must've gone to a lot of trouble to find plain old me…_ I realised.

“I told you so…”

Tess grinned. Lifting the lid off a huge box of Maison De Fleurs, the most expensive roses in all of London. _And they were for me…_

_Me..._

I still struggled to comprehend all of this.

It was at this point, that the intercom buzzed, and I put down the little card and pressed the button. Putting me directly through to Sadie, our receptionist. Whose chirpy voice sounded almost giddy as I heard her speak.

“Uh…. _yes_. Cassie Silver’s Flower emporium, how may I help you?” I answered. Hearing Tess snigger laughter behind me at my little joke.

“Delivery for you, Cassie…”

She beamed through the phone, and I could just tell from her sparkly, jovial voice, that she was _grinning_ from _ear to ear_ as she did. She sounded flirty too. Maybe the delivery guy was cute?

“ _Oh,_ it’s probably those new lightboxes I ordered…” I muttered aloud. “Send them through…” I spoke, lifting my finger off the button and turning back to Tess.

“Anyway…. Back to the matter at hand..” I spoke, turning back round, surveying the carpet of flowers that had overtaken my work space.

“I was just telling you I told you so…” Tess smirked, leaning against her desk, arms folded, looking awfully proud of herself. Admiring a bunch of expensive looking wildflowers.

“That’s right. I was busy trying not to pay attention to you…”

I reminded myself, pointing a finger at her, putting my back to her and trying to shift some of the flowers out onto other surfaces so I could do some work today.

“Maybe one of these cards has his number on it?”

She chirped sunnily. Pointing to the mountain of the things before us.

Little did we know, but the office had now fallen into a respective hush. As all eyes went to one man, who carved his tall, beautiful way through the desks, following the receptionists advice in how to get to a certain persons office. Clad casually in dark colours, his posture relaxed, holding a huge, bursting with colour, bunch of posh flowers wrapped artfully, cradled in his hands. The delivery the receptionist spoke of. _Was not new lightboxes at all._

“I’m not listening to you.”

I threw over my shoulder to Tess. As I bent over the corner of the desk, trying to bring a heavy bag of lillies into my hands.

“Come on, this man is _clearly_ interested in you…”

She spoke, trailing off as she finished he words. But only because a rather familiar figure had strode through the office and now slowed his gait, coming to the office door where she stood. Completely unbeknownst to me, It was now her turn to look like a braindead goldfish at the handsome person, smirking his charming smirk, stood before her. Slyly peering into office, rewarded with the sight of my behind swaying and wobbling all over the place as I tried to grasp the evasive bunch below me. Tessa cleared her throat, and tried to get my attention, but I spoke loudly over her.

“These flowers change _nothing!”_

I angrily and moodily called to the room behind me, unaware of whom now stood in it. Still bending over further forwards to try and reach the nifty little bunch that was escaping my stretch. Little did I know, this caused Loki to tilt his head, one dark eyebrow shooting up his forehead in amusement. His smile grew wide as his eyes lingered solidly on my ass for a second.

 _She’s suddenly gone rather quiet…._ I thought to myself. _Unusual for her…_

“Well _. I’m_ certainly sorry to hear _that_ …”

Came a smooth dry man’s voice from behind me. Riddled with amusement. And whats worse, and all the more potently embarassing. Was that it was _his voice._ _Him_ , _the God_ from Elm Park Lane. The sex god who I had shared an all nighter of raunchy sex with.

I froze, before I abandoned the idea of reaching for those flowers. I slowly striaghtened up and turned around to be reunited with the sight of the glorious man whom I thought I would never lay eyes on again. He was kitted out, dark jeans and a leather belt, with a thick wool coat over a fine and expensive looking jumper, and he held a huge bunch of flowers in his hands. His inky hair that I remembered I loved running my hands through, was sexily pushed back on his head. Those enchanting eyes sparkled, and his smile was potent enough to make me shudder. My mouth dropped open, and I had a lot of trouble forming eloquent words.

“W- _wh-you_..” I stumbled, before I cleared my throat, blushing beetroot red as I tried my best to remember how to speak english, and _not moron._

“Forgive my intrusion. But they forgot to deliver these. Thought I’d come and pay you a visit in person…”

He smiles, his eyes glittering wonderfully as he stepped closer and handed me the flowers, of which I regained my senses long enough to take them in my hands, hiding my blushing cheeks as I leaned down and sniffed them. They did smell good. But I swore blind, even through the intoxicating scent of the flowers, I could still detect that _fabulous cologne_ he wore. He watched me keenly, his eyes growing warm and fond as he flashed me a smile that could fell women and men alike.

“They’re…. _all. Lovely_ , thankyou. So much. I- I, um. I… It’s nice to see you…” I finally got out.

“You’re a _hard woman_ to find and get hold of, Cassie Silver.” He grins.

“Well. Not leaving my number in hindsight, probably wasn’t all that helpful of me.…” I muttered in low, slight embarassment.

He chuckled, and the sound made my _ovaries hurt,_ I sware to god.

“Not really…” He smiled, narrowing his eyes a little at me, looking playful.

“Do you know _how many_ Cassie’s, who work at Illustration agencies, there are in London?” He asked.

“A fair few?” I hazarded a guess.

“37, actually”

He told me, folding his hands into his pockets as he smiled. His feet planted wide apart as he stood, smiling handsomely at me.

“ _Oh_. I _am sorry_. You poor man.” I blushed, laughing. I felt like a fool.

“It allowed me to _see you_ again. Cassie. _Don’t be sorry_ in the slightest…” He grinned lowly.

“I just, I figured…”

I began. Before I turned my head to see that Tess looked enormously happy, still stood in the office space, watching us. I wager she was three seconds way from fetching some popcorn and pulling up a chair to watch the show.

I turned back to the man before me, and grinned widely.

“Why don’t I take us somewhere to continue this talk, _in private…”_ I chided, seeing Tessa feigned a heavy interest in her _shoes_ all of a sudden.

“Lead the way.” He smiled, sweeping his hand out, offering me to walk ahead of him first. _Ever the gentleman._

“Nice to see you again too, Tess.” He smiled to my grinning friend before he slid away.

“And _you_ …” Came her keen, cooing of an answer.

I breezed out in front of him, still holding the flowers as I walked across the offices, trying to ignore how we were gawped at for the entirety of the route. There were whispers and elbows into ribs. Inclined heads, as everyone watched after the dark haired god of a man walking behind me. I led him to one of the conference rooms, cordoned off from the sight of numerous pairs of eyes that watched after us. I slid in first, and he shut the door after us. I walked to the table and laid the flowers down. As ever, our new surroundings were somewhat whacky. The conference walls were painted with a huge mural, the chairs around the white plastic table were a garish orange. And the carpet was an assualting shade of lime green. There was a large window looking into the room, but it was screened off with thick white shutters stealing us away from the eyes of everyone outside.

I turned to face him, to see he crossed quickly across to me, and wasted no time in pressing his body fiercely into mine, cupping my face in his massive, soft hands and delivering on me a kiss that made all thought flush from my head.

I gasped into his mouth at the sudden intrusion he took on me. But I twas in no way unwelcome. As I remembered, even the way he kissed, was, _perfection._ My lower back was pressed into the lip of the table behind me, and my hand, paused in midair, found a familiar place sliding down onto his shoulder. Which made him moan and clutch me closer, wrapping his arms around me tight, tugging me further into him, as my fingers dug onto his coat shoulder.We only broke away as we both needed some air. Our amorous lip lock disturbed my glasses on the bridge of my nose, meaning they slid down, until he chuckled and slid them back where they should have been on my nose. Over my flushing hot cheeks as I gasped against his mouth for more breath.

 _“God,_ I’ve wanted to do that to you since I _first saw you_ again…”

He growled against my lips, slinking his mouth to tilt sideways down onto my neck, pressing kisses that stole all my breath against my neck, his hands, hot and exploratory, pressed against my lower back through the thin cotton of my shirt. I whimpered. _He remembered_. We got to talking about hot spots, that night at the bar, and I mentioned that I would be putty in his hands, as my neck was _acutely_ sensitive to being kissed. _He had taken full advantage of that… both that night, and now…_

“I _want you_ like _mad...._ I want to strip you _perfectly bare_ of everything except _those glasses… You look too damn sexy to be true….”_

He moaned into my ear, nibbling gently on my earlobe, making my legs tremble as he did.

“Wait, wait, _wait…”_   I gasped against his lips before his kissed me again. Pressing my hands flat to his chest.

He took that opportunity to bend down slightly, hoisting my knees up by his side, and smoothing his hands over my ass, before he rocked me back to sit on the table, bracketed onto his body as he stood between my legs. His hands sliding up my back, loving the feel of my silky shirt under hands.

“I need to know. Before, I can allow myself to _do anymore_ of this. Do you, _want to, carry on seeing me?”_ I asked.

“Incontestably…” Came his beautiful answer.

My mouth gaped open.

“It wasn’t just a one night stand to you?” I asked.

He chuckled.

“You think so Ill of me? I didn’t even get a chance to tell you any of this, I woke up and you’d _gone_. Leaving me virtually nothing. A name, yes, but _no number_ , no _last name_. _Nothing._ Though you did leave a rather _lovely_ pair of tiny black lace knickers hanging off my headboard…”

He informed me. His eyes glittering darkly as he realised I had left without them.

“I didn’t think to look there…” I added.

“Cassie, You didn’t even give me the opportunity to ask you on a second, _proper date…._ You slunk out on me whilst I was still sleeping, and I have _never been_ more crazily devoted to wanting to find a woman _In all my life…”_ He told me.

"And you are, coincidentally,  _the hottest shag_ , I _have ever_ had..." He leered at me. "Best sex of my life, darling..." He added wickedly

I blinked. _and here I thought it was just me..._

“ ** _You,_** want, ** _me?”_** I asked, just having to check.

He smiled, brushing his hand to curve invitingly down my neck, making her shiver.

“Totally. Tragically, Tenderly…” He answered.

“ _You want me_ …” I tested aloud.

“Look. I’m many things. Alright, I grant you. But I’m not the type of guy who seduces a woman just in want of a _nice hot shag._ I took you home because dammit, I was _attracted_ to you. I wanted to get to _know_ you. And that doesn’t just restict itself to what you look like with your _clothes off._ It applies to all of you. I want all of you Cassie Silver. I want to date you and get to know who you are…” He told me. 

“I think we have the sexual compatability down already…” I spoke in a smile.

He chuckled.

“Irrefutably. Because I feel I should tell you, if those walls were any thicker, I’d shag you _right here_ and _now_ on this very table.”

He promised, smiling a kiss onto my neck.

“I’d spread those lovely legs and make you cum, _quivering around my tongue, just like I did_ on Friday…” He hushed into my ear. I bit my lip.

Something pinged in my head then. The very reason which helped add to my scarpering out on him.

“What about _that woman_ , on your answering machine…” I added.

He brushed a kiss on my neck, before he pulled back to answer.

“You mean _my sister?”_ He asks, raising an amused brow.

“Ok, _now_. I feel like an idiot…” I explained.

He chuckled, smiling into my neck.

“So?” He asked.

“Will you date me, Cassie? That’s what I _came here_ to ask…” He explained.

I beamed.

“You’ve seen me naked now. There’s no turning back. I’m afraid I have to either _date you, or kill_ you..” I smiled, crossing my arms about his neck.

“I’ll take the first option if I may…” He whispered.

“Are you kidding me. You invaded my office with enough flowers for a kingdom. I’d have to be a fool to say _‘no’_ to you…” I explained.

“Good. Because if you did. I’d persuade you…” He growled.

“How?” I asked teasingly.

“ _Drop your knickers_ , Miss Silver and _I’ll remind you_ …” He winked.

 

~


	4. 5 is a Magical Number...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry its so short! works stressing me out something awful, but I shall update when I am able! love you guys millions... x Punk

 

 

5 dates.

5 dates since Mr Perfect Laufeyson had fought and searched hard to ensure me that I was worth pursuing, and wooing me senseless with mountains of flowers, and reminding me that he could turn a woman to absolute jelly with his kisses.

5 dates since I had met the London Town God of Sex. And, if I had to label what each day since having met Loki felt like, I would have to say, it was a wonder my mouth didn’t ache from all the smiling I was doing. It looked like I had slept with a boot stretcher in my mouth.

The first date after the flower/office debacle, was relatively normal. A dinner date at a non-expensive restaurant in Pimlico. We chatted the hours away until closing time, and parted with a perfectly steamy kiss on my doorstep. It was unanimous to us that whilst we obviously knew we had such raging sexual compatibility it could put most nymphomaniacs to shame, even with that being so, we decided to withhold sex for a while. Just until we felt we could cover more grounds getting to know one another by not shagging like mad catholic rabbits.

The second date, was short but sweet, an hour and a half lunch date on my break, at a little french café near my work. As it was his day off, he wasn’t up in canary wharf mending the worlds economy to rights (my drunken memory was not all that patchy, _he was_ a credit manager for some very large, uber rich bank up in the wharf) It was a very genteel date, we shared a platter of exquisite dainty little french cakes and pastries for desert, he laughed nicely that sexy laugh of his at me when I got cream on my top lip, and I’m sure we made people retch in disgust at our potent, early dating, happiness when he leaned over and kissed and licked away the glob of cream from the corner of my lips. Murmering lowly afterwards to me how that was _almost twice as delicious_ as one of the cakes.

I’m sure I flushed _trés rougé_ right to my ears, at that.

The Third date was one of the most relaxed dates I had ever had in my life. It was a rainy Sunday I was slouching about under the pretence of doing work when I actually was watching Netflix, and we didn’t have any plans to see each other, when I received a phonecall, from a certain God telling me he was doing exactly as I was. Swanning about the house, not doing much, and missing me and my company, like mad. So, we decided to take ourselves out, and I met him at a local, somewhat cheap and cheerful pub, crowded with rugby fans, with myself having very little next to no make up on, and in jeans and a saggy jumper, and we had a few pints together, and tried to understand the rules of rugby over a huge plate of traditional pie and mash. It was a very giggly walk home, as we were both a little sauced, arm in arm we walked back to mine, stealing not so subtle gropes at one another, his hand sneaking further and further down to cup my ass in my jeans pocket, and my own hand being incredibly badly behaved and sneaking under the hem of his jumper to slide down his trim, perfectly toned side. Abs like Adonis, this man had.

Again, we parted ways after sharing a perfectly naughty kiss that almost turned into full on making out, right there in the street in front of the café and my flat. Luckily though, we remembered where we were, and I spent all evening on cloud nine remembering said kiss.

Fourth Date, was one of my absolute favourites, dinner, and a movie. But, in odes to just how perfect, Mr perfect was, it was everything but a run of the mill date. He had remembered how I told him I loved Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, and had found that they were playing it on a huge screen in St James’s park. It was a lovely warm evening, and we sat on the grass on a picnic blanket, cuddled together watching the film (Which he had never seen before and of course, of which I ribbed him for the entire time) and as we only had a bag of popcorn to feast on, and had a bottle of beer each. By the time the film ended, I was famished. But he then promised me, with a cheshire grin, that the date was not over yet.

I was led, holding his hand, back into town, completely lost as to where it was I was going, following him down a labrinythian maze of a path through the streets, until we get to this little forgotten place, on Princedale road. Which looked like someones garden. A huge, walled space, enclosed off from the street with a little locked and warped door pressed into the wall. I was at a complete loss – until he pulled out a key from his leather jacket pocket. I stood in awe, watching as he then unlocked the door and swept me inside. It was a public national park protected garden. But with a few added extras. Of which was a table for two, nestled happily under the spreading branches of an oak tree, strung with fairy lights, and with candles in jars hanging down from the branches to illuminate the romantic dining space for two. And dinner turned out to be a takeaway pizza with everything on it – of which I also told him I loved – with a bottle of red wine. Both hungry now, we dived into the food and the booze, and, dare I say, I would have jumped him right there and then in the garden and had him _alfresco_ were it not so cold and late. He called me a cab home, and gave me his jacket to keep me warm on my homeward journey. The cab driver must’ve thought I was on day release, for the way I was smiling like a loon.

The fifth date was a quickie, but no less lovely. I travelled up on my day off to have lunch with him on his lunch break. We snatched ourselves a takeaway from a vietnamese street food cart, and ate it, sat in the sunshine on a bench in Jubilee Park. Concealing away to myself, the secret of how fine he looked in his work wear. Formally clad in a fine grey suit, and a snow white, perfectly crisp shirt cut to fit him to perfection, just like on the night I first met him. The little devious part of me, _just knew_ , he had worn that emerald tie, on pure evil purpose, to remind me what had happened the _last time_ he wore it. Though the date was short, it was still no less enjoyable. We laughed, flirted, and talked as usual. And kissed goodbye as I saw him off at the doors to the high rise, glass and steel dominated skyscraper. I noticed the receptionist girls within, keenly spying on us from across the gleaming, marble floored lobby as he gave me a passionate, sexy, breath stealing, smooch goodbye.

And now, came time to roll around date Number six. Loki had told me he had booked reservations at a swanky place in Knightsbridge to take me to dinner for this evening. And I was sparing no luxury for myself, in readiness for it.

I asked Agnes to help me decide what to wear, and if she could find the time of a busy Friday evening in the café to artfully style my hair, as she was so good at it, and I was marginally better than pants at it. I had thrown myself into a scorching lavender bubble bath, complete with candles, mood music and lighting and was busy agonising over whether or not to wear a scarlet dress, or a black dress, when all of a sudden there came a knock at my front door, and as my flat was no bigger than a postage stamp, It wasn’t any wonder I could hear it even above the music I had playing. The nature of the knock, however, was _unusua_ l _._ Agnes just _barges_ her gobby way in wherever she goes. I decided to leave it, she had a key, she could get in, until not seconds later, when the knock came again, louder. I sighed, and snatched myself out of my deliciously warm bath. I was starting to prune, anyway. I gave myself a hasty pat down with a towel, and then pulled on my beige silk dressing gown. Tied it tight, and made my way to the door, still half naked and completely damp. Shouting to Agnes, who was undoubtedly beyond the door as I went.

“Of all the times, in your gobby life, Agnes Archer, to suddenly decide to be courteous, you had to pick now? It couldn’t have been the time I was naked and shaving my legs in the bath when you wandered your way in, no, it had to be now, didn’t it?”

I shouted through the door, coming to it and unlocking the first lock, advancing onto the second and speaking to her some more as I pulled the door inwards.

“Or what about the time when I’ve been changing my clothes, safe in the knowledge I couldn’t be seen, and then, who would wander in, but you…” I sarrced swinging the door open to see who stood the other side of it.

And it turned out to be a grinning Loki.

A handsome, six foot four man, with dashingly dark hair, sexily styled on his head, and those piercing blue eyes that needed their own dimmer switch. Crooking at me that smile that belonged plastered on designer cologne adverts. Clad in casual clothes, a scarlet red jumper, matchstick blue jeans, chunky distressed biker boots, and his burberry cat collar folded up

My mouth hit the floor, and something breathy half bred with a laugh fell awkwardly out of my lips as I felt my cheeks heat up. Biting my lip in embarassment.

“ _Lucky_ Agnes, I’d say.” He smiled lowly.

I shook my head in beaming disbelief at him, half shielding my body behind the door so I couldn’t be seen in my half clad, robed, state.

“How did you get in here-?” I asked, before I stopped myself short and nodded.

I smiled moving closer to him and peering down past his tall shoulder to the landing, I placed a hand on his shoulder and looked down the stairs past the landing, to see a grinning Zack and Agnes waving madly up at me and Loki from down below, giving me a crude thumbs up.

I made a displeased sort of ‘hmmmm.’ Low sound at the back of my throat as I smiled, glaring down at them both. He did too, grinning at their idiocy.

“You'd better come in…” I smiled, my tone glum, in knowing my two mischevous friends downstairs seemed determined to help me get some. I widened the door for him to enter.


End file.
